I could listen to this woman talk for hours, he thought, enjoying the sensation. Wait, what? Get ahold of yourself, man. “Yes, they are,” he said, returning to the mundane conversation.

“I was… glad to be invited,” she commented idly, though the force of will required for her to utter the simple phrase made it seem more important than it

was. She tugged on her hand.

Christopher blinked, suddenly realizing he'd forgotten to let go. Her fingers

fell from his grip. “I am also glad you were invited,” he said, trying to be charming.

A hint of color stained her cheeks.

So, she's susceptible to a compliment. Good.

She glanced up at him again, meeting his eyes briefly. “The violin is… out of

tune.”

Christopher listened. “You're right. I suppose hiring the highest level of musicians isn't necessary in this din. Do you like music then, Miss Valentino?”

“Yes, very much.” She raised her head at that, and he saw a hint of passion in

her eyes.

“Do you play any instruments?” he asked, thankful to have stumbled upon a

means of prolonging the conversation.

“The pianoforte,” she replied.

“Well?” he pressed.

Her eyes met his. “Yes.”

He raised his eyebrows. While most young ladies did learn to play the instrument, admitting right out that one played well—rather than well enough or

some other self-deprecating comment—might be considered immodest.

However, given how shy she was, she might be giving a modest assessment of

her talent. How interesting it would be to hear that hint of passion expressed in music. I hope she isn't too shy to play for me sometime.

Wait, what? Why am I thinking of another meeting? This is a favor toMother, nothing more. His internal argument distracted his attention, allowing his mouth to carry on flattering the girl without his full consent. “I would enjoy

hearing it. I love music. Alas, I have no talent.”

“He exaggerates,” Julia interjected. “He sings rather well.”

Christopher shrugged. “Perhaps.” Only in your mind, Mother. I sing like an

amorous bullfrog. “Well, Miss Valentino, would you care to dance?” Though the invitation escaped before he could consider its wisdom, he could feel no regret.

The opportunity to touch Miss Valentino was not to be missed.

The young woman looked up at him again briefly and then nodded once,

returning her gaze to the floor while her cheeks flamed.

“Very good.” He extended his hand into her field of vision.

Hesitantly, she placed her palm in his and let him lead her onto the floor.

“My dear,” he told her as the waltz began, “I have a singular problem making

conversation with your hairline. If you're a musician, then I'm sure you have enough rhythm to take your eyes off your feet and look at me. Can you do that?”

She raised her face. This close to her, he could see the luscious curve of her

lower lip. She had a mouth made for kissing. Her slender body fit perfectly in his

arms; tall enough that their position aligned naturally with no need for him to stoop.

“Thank you for asking me to dance,” she said softly. “I know your mother put you up to it.”

Christopher inhaled in preparation to speak and the soft aroma of lilacs

teased him. In the heart of icy winter, this woman smelled like spring. He answered her honestly. “Not at all. She put me up to meeting you. I asked you to

dance because I wanted to.”

That hint of color darkened her cheeks again. “Why on earth would you?”

“You're quite… pretty, you like music, and you're interesting. Why would I

not?”

Her blush darkened further. “Never mind.”

It appears her susceptibility to compliments is limited. “Right. So, let's talk about something.”

She gave him a considering look but remained silent.

He cast about for a topic. “Since you like music so much, do you have any

favorite composers?”

“Beethoven,” she replied promptly. “I also like Chopin very much.”

He acknowledged her comment with a brief nod. “Not surprising. Do you